


The Golden Lily

by Marie_Michon



Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas, The Musketeers (2014), d'Artagnan Romances (Three Musketeers Series) - All Media Types
Genre: Aramis POV, Athos POV, Athos/Aramis UST, Double Penetration, F/M, M/M, Multi, Porthos POV, dub-con, m/f/m
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 14:25:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1902390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_Michon/pseuds/Marie_Michon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At a missions' stop-over for the night in Amiens at The Golden Lily, every Musketeer is enjoying his own favourite pastime until Porthos makes an unpredicted move that worries Athos and surprises Aramis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Golden Lily

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank my beta reader, corrector and English supervisor pinkwithoutplot ;). Love ya!!

They were eight of the King’s Musketeers on their way to Calais, on a mission to accept an important consignment for the King which should arrive by ship in a few days hence. They had stopped for the night in Amiens and were scattered in the public parlour of the _auberge_ “The Golden Lily”.

The leader of the squad, Athos, as was his habit, had found a seat in a quiet and dimly lit corner from which he could not only overlook the whole room but most importantly the main doorways. He had just been brought his second bottle of wine and contented himself with drinking it on his own as the other men knew and respected his need for privacy. 

Even Porthos, one of Athos’ two oldest and truest friends, knew better than to disturb the older one’s brooding and amused himself with his most favourite pastime, playing _Lansquenet_. He was relieving some locals – and some of his fellow Musketeers as well – of a few _sous_ , boasting vociferously about his luck with cards, which raised but a sarcastic half-smile from Athos. He knew just all too well that Porthos’ luck happened to derive from cheating, which more often than not had gotten him into serious trouble. How there were some Musketeers left in the regiment even, who were still oblivious of that knowledge, remained a mystery to him. He shook his head mildly and just hoped that everybody, first and foremost himself, got drunk enough to go to sleep peacefully, this time, before anyone found out.

With a deep exhale that was close to a sigh he addressed himself fully back to his bottle prior to letting his gaze wander through the room to his other best friend and the third member of what their comrades called “the Inseparables”, Aramis. 

This one was in the middle of recounting a precarious story of a current court intrigue. The rest of their group, including their newest and youngest member, D’Artagnan, was literally hanging on Aramis’ every word. Not only did Aramis have a talent for words but also the wits to completely enthral his audience, those sitting with him at the table as well as those lingering nearby, including the two waiting women. 

Athos realised he would need to wait for a pause in Aramis’ stream of words to order another bottle whilst the two wenches competed against each other for refilling the aforementioned’s cup. It was farcical, in Athos’ opinion, how they made a show of brushing his swordbrother’s arm with theirs while pouring, or grazing his side with their curvy behinds when turning away from him. 

He knew exactly where this was leading and desperately yearned for more alcohol, especially as he knew that Porthos, although seemingly concentrated on his card game, was watching their comrade cautiously from the corner of his eye. 

But Aramis evidently wasn’t in the mood for that yet. He was still in his comradely mode, basking in the attention of his listeners. He nevertheless knew how to keep the women in line and performed that routine subconsciously by throwing them short ambiguous looks up from under his long lashes or touching them supposedly unintentionally whenever they so coarsely asked for his attention. However, Athos knew his brother-in-arms’ signs – he was sure Aramis himself wasn’t even aware of showing – when his interest shifted to a different kind of attention, but those remained absent as yet. 

Athos couldn’t help but wonder why he even still cared. The three of them knew each other way better than to believe one of them would ever change his peculiarities, but this special need of Aramis remained annoyingly inexplicable to him. His insatiable longing for attention, his constant talk of desire and love, was worrying Athos deeply. Wasn’t it rather thirst for adventure instead? Of course, Athos cared for his friend and observed with anxiety the level of excitement with which the other volunteered for extra hazardous missions, took on the most dangerous fights and got himself into all kinds of highly perilous situations. He constantly feared for Aramis’ life. But this special kind of pursuit pained Athos the most, in all likelihood because it was the only one in which his two friends did not remain steadfast at his side by. It was not that Athos had ever been given the impression that Aramis might need them there in this special case, nor had complaints ever reached his ear that Aramis has been less than fully adequate to that task, quite the opposite in fact, but maybe it was more the uneasy feeling that Aramis could also get hurt without Athos there to stand by him and in ways Athos wouldn’t be able to cure, something worse than death as Athos knew just too well… 

Athos wasn’t willing to wait any longer to be served and plonked his empty bottle hard on his table. 

The heavy thud was drowned by the general laughs and cheers Aramis had just received for the pointe of his story. He was clapped on his shoulder by his comrades sitting next to him, got the most adorable smile from D’Artagnan who was clapping his hands and shrill laughs from both wenches while receiving his applause, grinning broadly himself. 

And then there it was. Aramis’ grin subsided to a frozen smile and he reached absentmindedly for the cross that hung on a chain around his neck. He stroked it with his left thumb and forefinger for a while pretending to still listen to his friends until his right hand reached out for his mug, downing its content in one and setting it back on the table pointedly for the nearest serving woman to refill. When the closer one hurried to comply, he unhanded the mug to touch her pouring arm lightly, making her stop to look at him instantly, happy to be noticed at last. The teasing gaze he bestowed her with was rewarded not only by a most inviting smile but also by her pressing closer to him, whispering in his ear, lewd things most likely, as Aramis laughed his casual flirty laugh, drew her into his lap and obviously returned some rather suggestive remarks, which had her rebuke him playfully while her chuckling became considerably more throaty.

This was Athos’ moment. 

He calmly but repeatedly thumped his empty bottle on his table now, finally able to draw the attention of the second wench who obviously felt she was out of the race now and approached rapidly. She was smiling apologetically and flushed, probably partly from the shame that she had missed his call until then and partly over having been defeated in winning Aramis’ favour. If only she knew, thought Athos, that it had been in all likelihood not in the least by her own looks or doings that she hadn’t been the chosen one, but simply that the other girl had been closer within Aramis’ reach when he was ready. And furthermore, if she didn’t give up that easily, Aramis would surely not be opposed to taking them both upstairs, anyhow; he had seen him doing it, cursing him inwardly for his audacity.

But here she was, mumbling another apology, asking if she could serve him anything else offering a little more than was decent with her tone, clearly fishing for compliments, most likely searching vicarious satisfaction for her lost competition. But Athos didn’t pity her at all. In fact, he couldn’t even muster a polite half-smile, not for a woman like this or – thinking more deeply about it – any woman at all. So he just wore his usual straight non-smile, with a slightly annoyed curve around the left corner of his mouth, now, and told her to bring him another bottle, quickly this time, finishing pointedly that “this would be all” in his accustomed military manner which made it clear that she was dismissed. So she hurried to comply.

When Athos focused his attention back on his comrades, Aramis was already accompanying the other wench to some room upstairs, winking back at D’Artagnan conspiratorially. 

Athos clenched his teeth so hard his jaw muscles twitched. If he didn’t know the other one better, he would just have rolled his eyes about Aramis’ sexual obsession. But he did. Aramis liked to play the cocky letch, who talked about love and lust bluntly. But there were moments, when Aramis thought Athos more drunk than he actually was, that Athos had seen him lowering the charming smile he usually wore like a shield, talking about his true beliefs and innermost desires to someone he counted on not paying his words any heed. Athos though did and sometimes tried to get to Aramis a few days later, gleaning from him nothing but evasions. But under the scrutiny of Athos’ rigid stare, Aramis’ deep eyes at times betrayed his shallow talk. But Athos never persisted, he could relate, hiding his most private feelings as well. 

Athos let his gaze wander back to Porthos. 

For the others it had to look as if Porthos just didn’t pay any attention to anything else but his card game. But Athos knew him better as well and knew what signs to watch for in him, too. While D’Artagnan was praising the _connaissance_ of women, Aramis had just displayed and started boasting about how he had landed in bed with a strange noblewoman on his first day in Paris, and how he would soon best their comrade if he just learned a little more of the Parisian seduction _étiquette_ from Aramis. 

Porthos, although keeping his card-play-face, showed more and more symptoms of agitation. Athos noticed a tiny tick in his broad chest muscles as well as a slight blood-rush making his outer carotid throb at the base of his throat and strongly hoped that D’Artagnan would not pursue this train of thought out loud any further and simply shut his bloody mouth. 

But this hope was clearly in vain as D’Artagnan then tried to start flirting with the second wench. 

Athos had seen Porthos pursue women himself sometimes when he was in the mood, but the girls that Aramis knew how to attract easily with his educated charm and suave approach were often put off by Porthos’ big stature and loud behaviour. Athos often wondered why Porthos was able to get along so well with shy horses and never managed to show the same candour and delicacy around women. Usually Porthos didn’t care and settled for those girls who came up to him, wanting him to spend some of his winnings on them when he was lucky at dice or cards, but Athos had noticed a change in Porthos’ behaviour already some time ago. He now often laid eyes on those kinds of girls Aramis would typically attract, and would rather start brawls over games than settle with the easy girls of the house. Athos had contemplated a few times already what might have triggered that sudden jealousy and why he didn’t set his mark on the other woman right now. 

But Porthos obviously preferred pretending he would rather still be playing, although Athos could see he was losing focus on his game. He prayed the big man would stop before his lack of concentration made him sloppy and lay open his betrayal. On the other hand, a fight might probably help to better Porthos’ mood or at least clear his head a little. But with Porthos sulking already, himself not interested in getting up, and Aramis – usually level-headed in these combats – not by Porthos’ side, things might get out of hand, the opponents not even taken into account yet. He might even be required to stop drinking now if he should be forced to intervene and this prospect really didn’t please Athos in the least. Maybe the lesser effort would be to just get up now, and put up with a quarrel with Porthos to convince him to quit the game.

Athos took a last undecided look at the bottle in front of him, released a deep regretful breath and was about to get up when Porthos cried out, uttered a loud curse and jumped up so suddenly that his chair fell backwards with a loud clatter. He thrashed his cards on the table while his opponent collected the money. 

This was a new one. Had Porthos been so distracted that he didn’t even cheat? Before Athos could decide whether he should get up and stop Porthos from whatever he was going to do, Porthos shot a swift glance to the staircase that Aramis had taken some moments earlier. Athos stopped again in the motion he hadn’t even started yet. No, Porthos wouldn’t, … what even? Turn against his sworn brother in jealousy? Go and claim a serving wench Aramis was most likely _attending_ to at this very moment? 

_Peste!_ Athos’ mind raced, the frown deepening on his forehead. 

Porthos started towards the stairs. 

Athos could usually predict every action of either one of his friends by instinct; they knew each other well, very well, by heart … didn’t they? Were those two having another fight already, one he might have missed so far? It is not that he hadn’t seen them fight before – a lot, more recently – but mostly verbally. But this look in Porthos eyes, his wrathful movements, this was new, different, wrong. Usually, he didn’t have to worry about either of those two in earnest. They were each other’s match most of the time and normally he could count on them loving each other too much to really hurt the other one seriously. But right now there was a flicker in Porthos’ eyes he hadn’t seen directed at Aramis so far. And stepping between Aramis and a woman while he was at it was something that also could end badly, given that this happened to betrayed husbands or abandoned lovers commonly; men, Aramis wasn’t especially fond of. Athos couldn’t at all picture Aramis’ reaction towards Porthos in this matter. 

And Porthos? Would he really go between Aramis and his prey? Attack him for her? Did he have to fear for one of them seriously right now? And if so, which one? Barely a man was able to stand against Porthos unarmed in a _mêlée_ or a fist-fight. Let alone a completely surprised Aramis, caught off-guard, naked and…otherwise occupied. On the other hand, Aramis was a skilled and very swift fighter who was used to being attacked in this kind of situation. He might have a weapon within his reach, as Athos knew him, and in the heat of the action might mistake Porthos for an unamused husband or someone else. He might be agitated and react on his battle-instincts solely, thus striking Porthos down before recognising him, and Porthos might not get up his guard as fast as in a less emotional attack… 

Dread befell Athos. Cold sweat dripped down his back. He had to stop Porthos! 

He focused on the bottle in his hands to come back to reality. He clutched it so hard his knuckles had turned white. He felt sick, suddenly a little more light-headed from the wine than he thought he should. This must be the blood-rush. He had to calm down. He wouldn’t let himself be ruled by his feelings, not for anyone, not even them! He never did, never again. He was overreacting and this was something he couldn’t tolerate. He needed to be reasonable. Let the two of them make fools of themselves as long as they wished. They would not drag him into this idiocy. He needed to stand clear. 

He took another sip from the bottle. 

Stopping Porthos now would not solve this anyway. Neither could he go and beat some sense into both of those pig-heads, which would be his favourite course of action, nor did he seem to be able give them both what they needed so much that they behaved absolutely unreasonably. He couldn't even pinpoint what exactly it was they individually searched for. He was sure it wasn't just carnal attention for Aramis, despite what he tried to convince everybody. As for Porthos, it might be exactly that. But Aramis ... 

He turned the bottle between his fingers, it reminded him of said one stroking his cross earlier. No, his relentless desire for danger, his fierce recklessness in combat, Aramis was as addicted to feeling alive as Athos himself was to feeling the numbness of intoxication; just another remedy to another sort of poisonous pain? However, these two bastards had always fought, over everything. Since the first moment he had met them, stepping between them in the courtyard of the garrison, saying the appeasing word “Gentlemen!”, appealing to their sense of reason like he had so many times henceforth – too many to count. Porthos was stubborn and easily angered but often in lack of words therefore tempted to use his bodily force instead of arguing, especially with Aramis. And eloquent Aramis loved to tease Porthos and enrage him for his personal amusement. But both irrevocably respected Athos; he didn't flinch when Porthos grabbed him and didn't engage in words when Aramis objected. The countless times he had stepped between them…“Gentlemen!” Not this time. 

He took another mouthful of the wine to wash down the bitter after-taste of an undefined feeling he didn't want to elaborate on, now. Nothing severe would happen. 

He was sure of it. 

He needed to be. 

He had to at least try to be.

Porthos was already halfway up the stairs. 

Athos tried but couldn't stop picturing it. Him getting up, catching up with Porthos just in time when he opened the door; Aramis' lithe naked body lying in a bed on top of the wench; Porthos storming into the room furiously, gripping Aramis roughly by his shoulder; Aramis flashing at Porthos his typical killing glance, utter aggressiveness flashing in his usually so mild eyes; Porthos pulling him off her... to do what exactly, hit him? Claim his turn with her? Both? What did he want to do in this situation...? “Gentlemen!” 

He wished he could offer them more. He wished that good old Porthos was back to take his part, to cheer them up, to offer Aramis, what Athos couldn't. Grounding, friendship, love. Not the love of those women - Athos knew that one just too well. No, Aramis needed something else. Athos wished he could somehow be this, but Porthos had already been there. He used to love Aramis dearly. And Porthos was so open-hearted, radiating physical as well as mental warmth and loved to indulge in the brotherly comradeship and bodily closeness. This was something that didn't come to Athos easily. Porthos loved to hug and touch his companions, sitting thigh to thigh with them, laughing, jesting, while Athos never cared much for company, bodily contact even less. But he envied him when he saw Aramis' reaction to it. That answering smile to Porthos' broad laugh, the pat on Porthos’ back when the other one bear-hugged him, the cherishing look when Porthos clasped his shoulder and the endearing side-glances whenever they rode or sat next to each other. It just came naturally to Porthos to lighten up his comrades’ moods. The others often hesitantly tried and laid a hand on one of Athos’ shoulders, too, but his reaction usually tended to turn out rather dismissive. He just wasn't comfortable with this kind of communication. And he mostly didn't mind, he liked to be left alone. Just in this one case, he often regretted it. Again he had to force his thoughts back to the present. 

He really needed another bottle of wine.

\------------------------

Aramis meanwhile lay on his back in a small and uncomfortable bed in a small and accordingly uncomfortable room upstairs. It was the first room next to the stairs – as usual – the one most exposed to the sound-scape of the pub below. He was nevertheless in the middle of enjoying the administrations of the serving girl who was naked now and straddling his midst. Aramis had stepped out of his boots and breeches which were lying in front of the bed, but he had kept on his shirt to lie on it as the sheet didn't really look in a state he could tolerate lying on bare backed. Once lying, he had shrugged out of the shirt though and the woman above him had shoved the hems that still clung to him aside to take in his slender but slightly muscled form, caressing his nicely rounded biceps and shoulders.

Both were already past the foreplay, where he had said polite things, having found something worth complimenting her on, like he always did, while having touched her just enough to make her believe his words and helping her out of her clothes. He had realised he wasn't engaged too enthusiastically today – he'd probably have to pay this time. Not because she had asked him to, so far, and surely not afterwards, if he meant to make her forget about that, but because he wasn't in the mood to muster his full range of skills today. So he had welcomed it when she had taken over and instantly had opened his breeches. Feeling her skilled fingers open his buttons he had decided to simply let her do her work and just receive for once. He merely needed a little distraction right now and was not too eager to exert himself in the giving part. Also she looked like she could use a little money and she seemed to be worth it, judging by his bodily reaction to her efforts. She had felt secure enough in her demeanour that he had let her take the lead and do with him as she suggested as he had no special preferences if it came down to that. 

So he had willingly followed her to the bed and let her take off his boots and breeches while settling down. She had crawled onto the bed right behind him then, unlacing his shirt, purring she wanted to see all of him. He had smirked knowingly; he knew he had the looks women liked. His face was generally considered handsome, his body trained and to most of the women of this profession that alone worth some extra attention. She had given an appreciating hum and given him predator names. He hadn't paid attention too closely but automatically replied adequately with an equally low voice. 

Aramis loved _la conversation scabreuse_. This should be getting good enough, he had closed his eyes. He loved all kinds of words, to write verses, recite poetry, to argue, swear and curse, especially in the _boudoir_. He adored a woman who was astute enough to talk back let alone intelligent enough to respond equally. This was why he liked educated lovers from the higher classes mostly, this and the patronage, of course. He knew he was being unfair, now, not appreciating his current company a little more. She had not long after slid on him and was now sitting across his loins in a somewhat upright position having just freed his neck from the last bit of adhering collar fabric, slid her hands down his throat and then pushed herself further up from his chest, resting her hands on his external abdominal muscles while riding him at a not too hurried and steady pace. A contented sigh already very close to moan of pleasure escaped Aramis' throat when he recognised Porthos’ heavy steps on the stairs that led up to this room.

Aramis would know his two favourite brothers in arms from a thousand other Musketeers from much less than this distinguishing sound. He moved his left hand from a loose rest at her waist to a firmer grip at her hip that would keep her in place if Porthos decided to enter in case it might startle her. He was not in the slightest alarmed himself, but didn't know how she would react to such an intrusion. So he opened his eyes a little slit and although keeping his relaxed form otherwise, being ready to react with his right to whatever would happen IF Porthos really did decide to disturb them. The footsteps ended in front of the room's door. That bastard! Aramis felt her alarmed stop in her motion when Porthos opened the door. Aramis took an annoyed breath and placed both hands tightly on the woman's hips. She looked towards him. 

“Don't stop!” Aramis hissed menacingly, pushing her back down on him and steered her back into action. 

“Would you please to wait outside for your turn, _monsieur_ ,“ asked the woman politely but decidedly while resuming her movement. Aramis pretended to close his eyes again and made a show of a relaxed stretch with which he placed his right hand up, resting behind his head, foreseeing what would come. 

“No, I would not, “ answered Porthos, entered and closed the door behind him.

Curse him! Aramis thought. 

He minutely moved his right hand from behind his head just far enough to be able to quickly seize his _rapière_ that was leaning on the bed-head, like all his weapons, if needed. His left remained in a firm grip on the girl, encouraging her to proceed. 

Porthos had a trained eye as well and took the whole delicate situation in by a fast glance over as well as noticing Aramis' complete weaponry by his headboard, clearly within his reach. He also saw the tiny twitch in Aramis' fingers of his sword-hand that lay loosely by his temple, ready to defend himself – and the girl probably – if necessary. He deliberately slowly took the few steps over to the small table halfway between the bed and the door and pulled out the only chair to make himself comfortable. 

Aramis' hand relaxed. He contemplated. _Sang Dieu_ , Porthos might be the type who liked to watch before his turn. Well, he wasn't coy and didn't fail to act under scrutiny, furthermore with this steady pace he could go on for quite a while. Damn him. He would let him wait. 

Unfortunately the woman didn't seem that pleased with this arrangement at all. She didn't actually fight Aramis' grip but she tugged at his side where she could reach him and looked enquiringly in Porthos' direction. Aramis opened his eyes fully and followed her line of sight witheringly. 

“What's this going to be? Do you know this gentleman?” 

This was going to get interesting. As he was obviously being denied his simple fulfilment, Aramis could just as well make the most of it. This was a new situation, even for him, but it couldn't be said he wasn't imaginative and moreover he had a reputation to maintain. So he looked at Porthos incisively now, trying to get a hint, what he wanted. 

But Porthos stared back at him levelly. Aramis thought he had perceived something simmering in Porthos when he had entered but he was obviously dampening that now. He turned back to the woman and sprawled lasciviously below her. 

“Who cares, _ma Chère_ ,“ he breathed, “he doesn't need to trouble us.” 

He put on his most seductive smile, caught her right hand with his' and planted an obscenely wet kiss on her knuckles. Flattered by his sudden attention, she smiled back, straightened her back to push out her breasts, and doubled her efforts. 

“You'll pay for this”, she whispered, but was obviously willing to put on a good show, so Aramis nodded affirmatively and started to participate actively, now.

As soon as he began to move, slowly, sensually, making sure to hold her in place so that he could brush the sensitive rough spot inside her, she started to moan helplessly. He heard weapons rattle as Porthos rearranged his sitting. Aramis sneered inwardly. He hadn't even started, yet. 

He angled his legs and planted his feet on the bed to be able to lift and support them both to get a wider operating range. He grasped her backside with both hands to hold her in place arched his back and lifted them up a bit. He held her at that level we he withdrew halfway, then tensed his gluteal muscles and shoved back in entirely, more deeply than before even. Aramis took a moment to gloat over the flood of curses she uttered before he repeated the procedure. He would give Porthos a good example of his capabilities. 

The girl was doing her best to show off all of her features perfectly to the new customer. Touching her own breasts, tossing her hair, moistening her lips and throwing him stimulating glances from time to time, most likely to make him pay whatever she would invoice later on, but Porthos' focus was not on her. He just had eyes for Aramis; his smooth movements, the beads of sweat running over his chest, glistening on his narrow hips and the muscles tensing in his perfectly rounded little butt when he drove into her. Porthos felt his arousal building up.

She wouldn't last long like this. Aramis could already feel her starting to build up a throbbing deep inside, and she was getting considerably wetter. He had to restrain himself from looking over to Porthos when he thrust back insider her. Instead he moaned luxuriously letting himself fall back on the bed craning his head back, baring his throat squeezing her buttocks lustily. 

She took over again, leaning forward, kissing along his left jugular platysma which allowed him to throw a glance to his right side, where Porthos had started ridding himself of his attire. He was unbuttoning his doublet when he met Aramis leer with a steady gaze. 

He continued undressing holding Aramis' eye. 

The woman was sucking at Aramis' throat just below his jaw now, making him open his mouth, breathing heavily. Porthos had to swallow hard. Aramis rejoiced at seeing that. He had always loved to toy with Porthos and tease him to the verge of despair, but THIS was even better! He licked his lips expectantly, and lowered his eyes to glimpse down where he still kneaded her butt-cheeks. He knew Porthos would follow his view. From the corner of his eyes he could make out Porthos pawing himself heavily through his pants. He spread her cheeks wide now and glanced back alluringly. 

Porthos rid himself of the rest of his clothes unceremoniously and then stopped an instant to stand up straight and let Aramis take in his full bare stature. Of course they had seen each other naked before, but not like this; tensed, aroused and full of expectance. It was Aramis' time to swallow. Porthos was heavily built and muscled and his stance and the way he moved made him look even taller and broader and same went for his erection, it looked huge. Porthos winked at Aramis, twitched one of his large pectoral muscles in time with his cock and came over to them. 

Aramis was like paralysed. _Sacrebleu_ , he hadn't expected Porthos to actually join in while he was still doing her. The glint in Porthos' eyes now didn't augur well. He braced himself and started to talk soothingly to the woman. But Porthos was already on them. He placed a knee on her back to keep them both in place. 

She became frightened and pleaded “Please, _monsieur_ , we are nearly finished here, just another minute!”

“Naaa, I don't think so,” drawled Porthos, “I've seen both of your glances, you overtly invited me and I'll accept.” 

Aramis tried to appease her with calming words like he would his spirited Andalusian stallion, while Porthos settled behind her between both of their legs and slathered himself with the wetness that was running down between both of them. 

She finally calmed down when Aramis offered her to pay double the usual price for both of them which got him a disapproving head-shake from Porthos. Aramis answered with an annoyed stare back. It felt like their usual banter.

Then Porthos placed his strong hands on her hips which Aramis took as his clue to take his ones away. He stroked her shoulders and upper arms, continuing to talk mellowing pleasantries then gripped both her forearms, on which she was supporting herself now beside his head, and placed them firmly on his chest, pulling her close. He saw Porthos getting his cock into position behind her and shot him a brief look beside her head, Porthos glanced back with his “I'm ready”-look and Aramis nodded his understanding, they were well used to communicating like this as soldiers. It felt so familiar. Aramis drew her closer and stifled her cry with a thorough kiss as Porthos shoved slowly into her rear. THIS didn't feel customary at all. Aramis felt Porthos sliding in along the sensitive underside of his own cock, separated only by thin skin. He couldn't suppress a throaty groan as he felt his own arousal swelling up inside her against Porthos' even more. 

Porthos pressed fully in, stretching her to the max and then waited for her to get accustomed to him filling her completely. It was even better than he had imagined. Not only did she feel incredibly tight around his massive erection, more importantly, he could feel Aramis below. His hardness inside her pressed against the length of his own cock. It was delicious. Porthos had to strain himself from moving yet, as he felt the quivering woman still needed some time to relax and catch her breath, Aramis cared for such things. 

GOD, how he envied her, lying on top of him, feeling his whole sweaty body moving underneath and within her, having his gifted lips on her, his apt tongue, his delicate hands. Aramis stirred against him, withdrawing the little he could in his position and sliding back in place, the friction almost unbearable. Porthos felt dizzy; probably the rest of his blood that was responsible for the last coherent thoughts in his head was rushing down to pool in his groin as well. He felt himself filling up even more when Aramis moved again, sliding out cautiously and shoving more daringly back in, rubbing gloriously against him. Porthos rumbled something unintelligibly, he couldn’t hold still any longer. His hands slid down from her to Aramis, fingers feeling along his hip-dips, squeezing his loins as he moved. He felt so bodacious. 

Porthos wanted to see him. He caught the girl’s shoulders and pulled her up before him, breaking her kiss with Aramis. She was panting and he pressed her against his own chest with his left arm resting her head on his left shoulder, so he could watch Aramis over her right one. And he was beautiful to look at: his talented hands that found their way back to her thighs that still straddled him, his flat abs laced with scars, scars Porthos knew very well, having been by his side when he got most of them, his Adonis-like sculptured chest that heaved raggedly right now, his well-trained shoulders with the closed hole of a Musket shot he still wished he could have taken for him. Aramis would have been so much better than him getting the ball out and stitching him up. 

He caught Aramis’ eye and held it until his gaze was drawn to his lips. How gorgeous he looked, with his mouth open, breathing heavily, his lips still wet from the kiss Porthos had just parted. Porthos wished he could kiss him like that, ravish his so inviting mouth, explore the depths of him with his tongue. He wished Aramis would touch him as longingly and as possessively as he did these girls. But he was already risking too much as it was. He couldn’t afford to alienate Aramis irrevocably. So he contented himself with stroking the right side of her neck slowly descending his thumb from her jaw to her shoulder for Aramis to see and imagined it could be him. He kept a searing stare directed at his compatriot as he let his lush lips follow his thumb, nibbling at first, then sucking and finally biting. The later was accompanied by a tight squeeze of her breast with his other hand. He wished he could will some understanding into his friend as he finally pulled nearly all the way out and thrust forcefully back in. He felt her swallow under his right hand that was still placed at the base of her throat and wondered for an instant if she feared he’d throttle her if she screamed. But the feeling of the Aramis’ against him was enough to make him forget about that. He pressed her closer with his left arm still and pictured the soft round cheeks he was pounding against were smaller, harder ones. All that mattered to him now, was the hard length inside her he kept grinding against, the relishing in the feeling that rose in him; making him want to thrust deeper and press harder against him. His violent strokes set the pace for both of them now. 

Like from afar he heard Aramis’ suppressed curses that still sounded like calming prayers to him, he barely noticed the other thumbing her swollen clit still measuring his own jabs until she shuddered between them and came, clenching them both so hard it hurt. They instantly both stopped moving and when finally her clench slackened to an orgasmic throbbing, Porthos felt the pulsing of Aramis’ release following closely. Porthos cursed inwardly. What had he been thinking? He would never be able to do this for him, being able to milk him like that with his own undoing. Aramis had a reputation of never leaving a woman unsatisfied, whore or not and even now he had made sure to get her to it. Probably this was not in the least on their account at all, but simply because he needed it to get off on it. Frustration took over as Porthos fought to reach his own peak desperately, taking whatever friction he could still get from Aramis who yet stayed in place, watching Porthos with an unreadable expression. If this was the first and last time he could ever touch Aramis while coming, he would make it count. He bent down so he could reach under her, grabbed Aramis’ oh so delicious behind and squeezed him tight. It gave him the rest when he felt these toned muscles jerk in surprise in under his fingers. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the girl’s shoulder as his own orgasm took him viciously and left him helpless, spurting shot after shot into her for quite some time.

Aramis watched closely for some clue in Porthos’ face as to what he might think. But Porthos was now pulling back and turning away without a further look at him. He started to pick up his clothes and dressed hurriedly. Aramis frowned, he though he got the other’s expression right when Porthos had broken his kiss with her, stared at him while sucking at her throat, showing off his ample lips to him, himself panting, wet and open mouthed with every hint but licking his lips, but Porthos hadn’t made a single move to kiss him. _S’Blood!_ He had so often wondered what Porthos soft big mouth would feel like, on his lips, on his throat and on his cock. And he was sure he had felt Porthos searching his release with _him_ although he was technically taking her, he had all but felt Porthos eyes lick along his body when he had so invitingly displayed them both, Porthos still sitting at the table. He could have sworn Porthos had devoured him optically. Porthos had grabbed the rest of his belongings and fled the room. Maybe then Athos was right, he was getting too vain. Maybe he had seen wrong. 

He sighed and sat up as the woman climbed down from him gingerly. She hissed rants at him, enraged, furious and she was right. He hadn’t in the least believed Porthos to be such a brute lover; he had always seemed so warm-hearted and tender, though he had changed for a more violent behaviour of late. Aramis was really sorry on her behalf. He fetched from his things the promised _sous_ , and added some more, laying the money on the table. Porthos would pay for this. He dressed apologising verbosely and took his leave with a graceful bow, sweeping his hat back on while stepping out of the door. On the wall next to that very door leaned Athos, leisurely, in his usual habit with his arms crossed before his chest and looked at him questioningly.

From what little he could make out in this dark corridor and from the way Aramis held himself, Athos thought he didn’t seem injured. Athos kept his calm composure and asked with a voice he hoped would not give away too much of his concern, 

“Are you all right?” 

How long had Athos been standing there? Aramis put on his casual smile. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

Athos gave him a mildly annoyed look. 

“What about Porthos?” 

Aramis shrugged, he couldn’t possibly tell Athos what had just happened, no matter how much he had already heard, but if he tried his usual evasion and answered ‘What about him?’ chances were that Athos would punch him severely. He could see it in Athos caring eyes, the question if Porthos had done something to him. He smiled genuinely when he raised his eyebrows, laid an arm around Athos’ shoulder steering him back down and answered aloud, 

“Nothing, unfortunately.”


End file.
